


The Costumier

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Cheriks [25]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Cosplay, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Erik likes to make costumes.Charles likes to wear costumes.Things work out.





	1. Chapter 1

Erik refuses to admit that he is anxious in any way. He has nerves of steel. He is unshockable. He rolls with the punches and gives back as good as he gets.

But it’s 2PM on the first day of the convention and no one has bought from him.

He has a table in the artist’s alley, which was expensive as fuck, but it was supposed to be worth it. He chose his pieces with care; the various replicas and original creations are spread with mathematical precision, none obscuring any others, and his patterns booklets are clearly labeled. He has examples of costumes he’s made himself hanging on the wall behind him. He doesn’t have a big fancy sign, because he isn’t a big fancy company. It’s him alone, and Mama when she has the energy, and the twins when he can catch them.

It’s 2:30 and no one has even stopped to look at his stuff.

He can see other tables selling cosplay and costume pieces, and they seem to be doing a brisk business, unless they’re obviously crappy, but no one is interested in his things. Maybe because he doesn’t do gore or fake wounds; he deals exclusively in scifi and fantasy pieces, horns and face prosthetics and wings that aren’t floppy and cheap. He has photos of satisfied customers, beaming at their cameras, set among his pieces; but they’re not professional photos, they’re not poster-size, and no one seems to care.

Tomorrow at noon. He’ll stick it out until tomorrow at noon. Then he’ll give up and go home, even though he paid for a full three days.

It’s just as he’s having these defeatist thoughts that he sees someone familiar.

Erik loves custom orders. They’re far more fun than just copying a popular game or anime. And he has one particular customer who liked his work _so_ much, that he actually gave Erik the money necessary to invest in a real website, high-quality, _new_ materials, a fancy sewing machine, and ease off the overtime he’d been taking on for years just to make it through the week. Erik doesn’t go short of sleep anymore unless he’s in the throes of creative passion; and the reason for that is wheeling down the alley, looking around sharply with his inquisitive blue eyes.

Charles Xavier is actually featured in three of Erik’s photos of satisfied customers; he has a friend who’s a professional photographer, his sister is a makeup artist, and he has the most genuine, excited smile. Today he is wearing the latest costume Erik made for him; a pirate getup, historically accurate but with fantastical flourishes like embroidery so complicated Erik almost went blind trying to make it perfect, with the boots Azazel made and a hat Erik had created on the fly for Charles. He looks great.

Erik straightens a little in his seat, then feels stupid; he knows what his customers look like, but he has never shared photos of himself. But he did tweet which table he had, and some customers, including Charles, had said they would stop by…

Charles suddenly looks right at Erik, and then the photos on his table, and then he looks up again to beam at Erik with all the warmth and excitement of a best friend. It startles Erik considerably.

“You’re Erik, yes?” Charles asks, wheeling right up to the table, still grinning. “I’m so glad to finally meet you! I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier, my sister dragged me to some panels and our friends kept getting stopped for photos. I only just managed to get away. You have new horns!”

“Ah—yeah,” Erik replies, as Charles peers at the large antlers hung on the wall behind him. “Visited a museum, got inspired.”

“As usual,” Charles answers, turning his smile back on Erik. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. And you?”

“Pretty good, actually. Do you have any new patterns?”

“Yeah. What were you looking for?” Erik asks, as he stands and moves to the box full of pattern booklets.

“Oh, I was thinking something fae-like, not elvish, more like old Irish Fae.”

“Old Irish?” Erik frowns to himself as he flips through the booklets, then picks out one that he made up a few weeks ago, based on medieval Celtic designs he saw at a museum in Belfast. “Well… have a look at this. I could do adjustments, and I’ve still got that green wool you liked.”

Charles’ face lit up. “Oh, would you? Thank you so much!” He takes the booklet and inspects the designs with lively interest. “These are beautiful, Erik!”

Erik tells himself he isn’t blushing, but he isn’t sure he believes himself.

“Hey… you do custom?”

Erik looks over, surprised, at the young woman dressed as one of the sailor scouts who is helping man the table beside his. “Yes,” he tells her, puzzled. “That’s my whole thing.”

She begins to look tentatively hopeful. “Can I have a look through your patterns?” she asks. “I usually make my own stuff, but… I’m not very good with adapting patterns.”

Erik gestures to his booklets. “Go ahead and look through ‘em. I’ve got a notebook, we can talk it over if you like any of them.”

She grins suddenly and slips between their tables to stand in front of the patterns, flipping through them with sincere fascination. Erik looks to Charles, who is smiling small and secretive. He sees Erik looking and says cheerfully, “I really like pattern C. Do you have the iridescent green wings still?”

“None ready-made, but I can make a pair when I get home in a few days. Small?”

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, this is _gorgeous_!” the scout exclaims, then blushes as both men look at her. She points to the pattern she’s looking at. “I’ve always wanted a princess dress, and this one is beautiful.”

“Yes?” Erik looks at it, narrowing his eyes. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Um—purple,” she answers.

“Purple, purple...” Erik goes through his fabric stockpile in his head, discarding most of the duller colors. Something bright, but harmonizing with her dusky complexion. “Yes. I’ve got some purple that would work. Do you want the pattern itself, or do you just want me to make it? Costs more, and I’ll need your address and measurements, but you won’t have to worry about altering.”

The girl looks a little bewildered, then doubtful, then thoughtful. “I get paid next Friday,” she says slowly, “So… yeah, I can afford that. Uh, should I email you my measurements?”

“If that’s more comfortable for you. I have a tape measure with me, too, though.”

“I’ll measure you, Maya,” the other scout from the table next door says firmly, inching closer. “What do you need, mister…?”

“Erik Lehnsherr. Just a moment.” Erik digs out his notebook and quickly makes a list of which measurements he’ll need, then pulls out his tape too. “There’s room behind my table, since yours is so crowded.”

“Thanks!” Maya looks suddenly much more relaxed, and Erik moves aside to let her and her friend into the space behind him so they can get her measurements. Then he turns to face front again, and blinks. There’s a couple teenagers inspecting the horns he has laid out, and Charles is pulling out his card.

“You’ve still got my email,” Charles tells Erik, holding out his card, “But I’d like to buy the booklet as well, so I can show my sister. She might want pattern A.”

“Sure.” Erik takes his card, swipes it on the machine he bought specifically for this adventure (he doesn’t trust the little smartphone plug-ins), and writes out the details on a memo pad as the machine prints the receipt. “There. Have a nice day, Charles.”

“You too, Erik!”

And Charles wheels away, and the teenagers shuffle closer, each clutching a pair of demon horns. “Um, we’d like to buy these,” the boy mumbles. Erik nods and opens his cashbox, since he sees paper bills in their fists.

“Need receipts?” he asks them.

“Nah, we’re good, thanks.” They flash him quick, nervous smiles, then flee.

“Okay, measuring done!” Maya’s friend says behind Erik, and both girls squeeze through to in front of his table again, grinning. Maya looks very excited, and it makes Erik feel a little better. “We double-checked everything,” she says, handing him tape and notebook. “What else do you need?”

“I didn’t bring any of my fabric with me, so I’ll need your email so I can send you pictures of what I have for you to choose. Do you want trimmings? What colors? I have mostly different shades of silver for ribbons, but gold would work better with the purples I have in mind.”

As they go over cursory details, and Maya gives him her email, more people drift over. He gets two more custom orders that afternoon, though both of them opt to email him the measurements; he brings out his book of older patterns when he sees a little girl looking longingly at a dragon costume pattern that Erik specifically designed for adults, and shows her the stuff he designed for kids—mostly his twins, when they still played dressup. More children are drawn by this, and with them come parents, some reluctant, most intrigued. A lot of people walk away when they hear his prices; but not all.

By the time the end of day one comes around, Erik has made more money in one sitting than he has in a full day at his highest-paid job.

He’s still a little baffled—but he thinks, if he sees Charles again, he should really thank the other man.

~

The next day, he’s a little late to finish setting everything up, but then the doors open to attendees and the business Erik receives is steady. He warns everyone that, with so many orders, he may be pushed back a few days—but everyone smiles and assures him that’s fine. He feels full of some strange elation, that he’s making money for something he loves to do. He might actually take some vacation time next week to work on these orders. And when they’re done… if the work keeps coming… he can quit.

No. That’s a distant future. He concentrates on now.

There’s the usual amount of nerds who want exact replicas, and for them he has another box of patterns, from every video game, anime, and comic book that he’s monitored on Google trends. He warns everyone that armor with take much, much longer than just the fabric pieces, but when he shows his example pieces, pretty much everyone who wants armor is excited enough to agree. Erik will definitely have to bring Emma in to help; she’s not a costumier, but she _is_ a sculptor and painter, so hopefully she’ll know how to do details.

Finally, every slot he allowed himself is full, and it is with a sense of triumph that he puts out the “no longer taking custom orders” sign. He will still sell patterns and what he brought with him, but his notebook is full, and he will be very busy indeed for the next month.

It is 4PM and he is done.

People still drift over when they see the sign and ask when he will next be taking custom orders; he manages a rough estimate of a month, and while many sigh and walk away, some ask for his card, with his website and email. He sells all his pieces, including the very expensive antlers, and by the end of the day, he has nothing left. Elated, he packs up his things and prepares to leave. He will see if the organizers will take his table and find a use for it, for the final day.

Maya and her friend, Josie, were dressed as some other anime magical girls today, and they bid him a cheerful goodbye as he finishes packing before they do. He manages a small smile and returns the goodbye, and then he lugs his things out.

He feels grand all the way back to the hotel. He will have an entire day to wander around tomorrow. An entire day! He can hardly believe his luck. When he gets to his hotel room, he immediately sets to counting his profits for the day. His head is reeling. He has enough that he can afford to pay his rent and bills while taking some time off from his day job to get started on the costumes. And there’s extra, for buying things he might not have, like embroidery floss in the right colors and silicone for making molds and—

He reins himself in sharply. After he counts everything, he gathers his receipts and gets them in order, ready to take to the bank when he goes to deposit the cash he’s earned. He had a long talk with an accountant about how to label cash as “income”, so that it can be properly taxed and he won’t get in trouble. Luckily, the accountant was glad to receive a fee for his consultation despite Erik refusing to sign a contract with his company. Otherwise there would have been Words.

Erik rearranges his notes, goes back over his list of clients to work out how long each costume will take to complete, and falls asleep surrounded by papers and dreaming of sewing.

~

The next day is great because he gets to wander the artist’s alley and scout the competition. No one else was offering custom work, but they were all doing cosplay or vaguely period clothing. Erik actually goes to museums and online archives to find period-specific inspiration; and he still manages to add fusion touches, when wanted. These people have inferior work. Even the booth selling exclusively prosthetics and horns isn’t as good as his work, though the prices are the same.

He buys some art prints, at tables that don’t seem to be selling well, and a stamped leather bookmark with symbols from Fullmetal Alchemist. He sees many amazing costumes and asks permission to photograph the more interesting. He ends up talking embroidery with a middle-aged woman for a solid ten minutes, until her husband’s annoyed sighing gets really loud and she scowls at him but she invites Erik to join the embroidery group on Facebook that she’s part of and he thanks her and promises he will.

He’s just thinking about lunch when someone hails him, and he turns to see Charles approaching.

Charles is in a new outfit, a rebel pilot, and there’s panels and pieces snapped on to his chair that look like the inside of a ship. He beams when he sees Erik noticing.

“Erik, good to see you again! How are you?”

“Better than I expected,” Erik replies, feeling somehow far more at ease. “And you?”

“I’m wonderful! Erik, I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Raven.” Charles gestures and looks up at the woman beside him. Erik looks too. She is dressed like those fish people from the newest Legend of Zelda; her skin is actually a tight suit of lycra, painted to look like the characters, and her painted face is suspicious.

“Hello,” she says shortly.

“Hello,” Erik replies. His eyes are drawn to her hand, wrapped around the shaft of a replica spear; someone took the inevitable lump where the seam would be on her glove and created claws to hide it. “Who made your costume?”

“Friend of mine,” she answers shortly.

Charles sighs quietly, as if disappointed, then hooks on another smile. “Would you like to walk with us?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I don't know either, I was listening to my playlist and I've had so much sugar today and my finger joints hurt, have this mess.

Sometimes it’s very hard not to just make costumes for the kids just because they’d be _adorable_.

Luna is seven, and she loves her Grampa, but she already has a wardrobe that’s half homemade costumes and half regular clothes, and Pietro has told Erik he will not accept more costumes until Halloween. Wanda has banned him from dressing her children completely, because they have too much stuff now. Kurt is always excited to receive a new outfit from Uncle Erik, but even he’s running out of room, and Raven and Azazel had an intervention with Erik. David refused any new costume pieces at the age of fifteen, but he always smiles when his papa casually drops a new shirt or pair of pants on him. Erik won’t make costumes for the students for free, but he definitely gives them deep discounts because it’s fun to dress them up.

Even little Nate Summers has a few cute onesies in his closet.

Charles, however… Charles is fifty and every time he has time for a convention, without fail, he’ll give Erik his sweetest smile and ask for a new costume, and Erik caves every time.

Lehnsherr Costumiers is a small company, now, with ten full-time employees, a physical store, and a steady stream of work. They’re making a name for themselves, and their booth is always swarmed at every convention they go to. Erik is only part-time, now, and he mostly draws patterns, but for the people in his life, he will _always_ have time to sew.

Fifty-three, and he’s still going. He’s not sure he’ll ever stop sewing. It’s too much fun, and everyone seems to appreciate it. Mama has Alzheimer’s, but she still smiles so wide when her son brings her new clothes, and they sit together and she knits while he sews. Even when she forgets who he is, she can touch the names embroidered on the hem of her favorite shawl and remember her little boy watching her darn socks with intense fascination.

Erik stares out the window thoughtfully, Charles sitting next to him and reading the newest medical journal he received yesterday. This is such a strange change. He lives in a fancy mansion with a wonderful husband, he has grandkids, his lifelong hobby-turned-passion has become a thriving business, there is a huge circle of people around him who count him as a family member even if they hate him, and… he’s happy.

“Darling, what are you thinking about so hard?”

Erik grins and kisses the back of Charles’ hand. “Life,” he answers simply.

Charles smiles back. “My philosopher,” he chuckles, an inside joke from when they first started dating and they would have long, intense conversations about the state of the world and humanity and what makes a person good or bad.

There’s a sudden swell of warmth in Erik’s chest, because he’s always hated being considered property, but when _Charles_ claims him, he just feels accepted. So he lunges and hugs Charles tightly, kissing his entire face, making Charles laugh and wriggle until they’re more comfortably fitted together, and Erik can murmur, “My professor.”

“Yours.” Charles settles in his arms. Erik grins, and kisses him one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> comments = life, love, and happiness


End file.
